


Only a Dream

by MidnightBlast



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Dreams, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, High School, Sexual Fantasy, The Dreaming, chocolate cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBlast/pseuds/MidnightBlast
Summary: There was a voice in your dream. Rich. Sonorous. Captivating.In which your sleeping mind conjures the most intriguing figure, and you hope your mind can do it again. After all, such a man couldn't possibly be real.
Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Only a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> So, I listened to the Audible book and fell in love with Dream's voice and cadence. That combined with the visual imagery from the comics formed the basis for this shameless musing.  
> I see this as happening somewhere in the adventures between Vol. 3 and 4.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! 
> 
> BTW, SYML's haunting cover of 'Mr. Sandman' is fantastic!

There was a voice in your dream.

Rich. Sonorous. Captivating _._

The figure attached to the voice proved equally worthy of your attention, but you jolted awake too suddenly.

You’d been back in high school. The uniforms were straight from your memory, as was the familiar setting of the cafeteria as you furiously labored over books and paper. Stress and anxiety lingered in the air – some assignment was late, or about to be overdue, or some such. Lunch din echoed around you as trays clattered, and students indistinctly conversed and chewed food. But that’s when you heard it – heard _him_ – sharp and crisp above the dull background.

Sure, you had dreamt of your school days before, but never recalled the presence of such a man. 

Perhaps work had you more stressed out than you thought.

That was why you slept with a notepad by your bed these days. Better to scribble the thoughts and reminders that plagued you at 3 am instead of dwelling on them until your alarm sounded. But when you woke last night, chasing and grasping the last vestiges of the dream – you reached for the notepad with a different purpose.

Your artistic skills were poor, so you made notes to help you remember.

  * _Tall, very thin, long black robe_
  * _Wild, black hair_
  * _Black eyes lit with stars_
  * _Deep, sonorous, distracting voice_
  * _Holding a plate of chocolate cake_



You tried to capture the untamed mop of hair, the slope of his elegant nose, the inscrutable expression when your gazes met. Though, sadly, your sketch didn’t do your dream man justice.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him. Staring at your notes, wondering why – now of all times – your subconscious decided to throw this man randomly into your dream. 

The dream proved just as fleeting as any other and if you didn’t have notes – you wondered if you’d still remember him. But the more you thought – allowed your conscious mind to fill in the gaps of that tall figure wrapped in black holding chocolate cake and conversing with the lunch lady – the more your curiosity grew.

Especially as the dream man didn’t appear again. It was a silly notion – but you wanted to see him again. You wanted to hear that voice again. Why would your subconscious tease you like that? The first man to remotely capture your attention in months and he was nothing more than a figment of your dreams.

Figures.

But that didn’t stop you from imagining. From fantasizing. Especially as you laid in your dark bed at night with your thoughts lost somewhere between waking and sleeping. Imagining more words in those rumbling, deep tones. Imagining studying those intriguing, starry eyes up close. And on particularly frustrating nights – imagining how that marble-hued skin would feel against yours. How soft would those dark locks be as they slid between your fingers? And the taste of his lips?

Of course, your subconscious just had to conjure up a man who was just your type – his bizarre qualities notwithstanding, of course. Because, seriously – stars for eyes? Such a cliché.

Perhaps you were a little overfond of the star-struck emoji.

But that didn’t stop you from abandoning yourself to the fantastical thoughts as you slid into sleep each night. Maybe tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.

Your mind did it once. Surely, your mind can do it again. 

You stand on a shoreline. The water stretches out before you, an endless pool of black ink that reflects the sky above. The sky is a deep navy fading to black that shimmers with stars, near and far, and glows with rolling waves of light that resemble aurora. Waves of greens, blues, purples, and yellows cast a beautiful, peaceful, unnatural glow around you. Ankle-high grass sways in a non-existent breeze, glowing with its own soft internal light. The faint green hue is punctuated with pops of colorful flora that also shimmer and flicker under the rolling waves of light. There’s an outcropping of rocks from which inky water runs in a gentle trickle – a waterfall.

Perhaps it’s a meadow. Or...just a lakeside. 

You’re not sure.

But as you glance around, your gaze catches on your attire. Standing there in just your pajamas – a worn pair of cotton shorts and thin t-shirt. Your hair is wrapped in the sloppy bun that you slept in. Your glasses are missing, but you can see perfectly. Goosebumps ripple across your skin as a chill settles underneath your thin clothing. And, of course, you’re not wearing a bra, either.

“I thought this setting would please you. I am glad that it does.” 

_That_ voice sends a different shiver down your spine. You turn with a sudden, jerking movement to see the tall, dark figure standing just behind you. He’s clothed in a robe blacker than the clearest night, making his pale white skin seem even more brilliant. The dark pools of his eyes reflect the distant waves of rolling color overhead, but nothing competes with the intensity of the twin, star centers. The black of his hair seems to swallow up all traces of light, much like his robe - his robe that reveals a most intriguing swath of equally ashen chest.

“God, it’s you…,” you swallow, finding your words stick in your throat, “wh – where is here?”

“We are in my private gardens.”

“Your gardens?” Your eyes dart around, dubious. This doesn’t look like any garden you’ve ever seen. “Um, then…why am I in my pajamas?” You can’t help but feel waifish next to his majestic presence.

“Would you care for something different?”

You stare at him, feeling your cheeks flush. “Well, you’re just…you know…,” you gesture vaguely at him, “dressed like that.”

He tilts his head, as if he truly hasn’t considered his own state of dress and the difference from you to him. “I understand.”

The air moves, wrapping around you. Fabric morphs and stretches against your skin, turning from familiar cotton to lush, decadent velvet. Your shorts and shirt melt together, staining the dark black of his robe, hugging your curves as your own robe takes shape. The sleeves reach your wrists with an elegant, sweeping bell shape. A high collar cushions your neck and just a hint of your chest is on display above the v-neckline. 

Even without a mirror, you can tell the robe is flattering and tasteful on your figure. The fabric slides against your skin - such an inviting texture that begs to be touched - as you move to observe the transformation.

A shiver races down your spine as you look back to him, realization catching up to you.

He hadn’t even needed to move.

The thought of his power shouldn’t be so arousing, but heat suffuses you as you meet his piercing gaze. “Thank you…this is – well, unbelievable quite frankly.”

He remains eerily still, not even blinking – does he need to with those eyes of his? But for all of his stillness, the edges of his robe sway around him despite the lack of a discernible breeze. “You observed me in your dream some time past.”

“Yes.” You don’t have a reason to deny it, recalling your notes. “You held a piece of cake in a school cafeteria. You…you certainly didn’t fit in.”

He tipped his head ever so slightly. “I had need of it. Melpomene is quite fond of chocolate, and your dream happened to be convenient.”

“Melpomene?”

“The Muse of Tragedy.”

Oh. What were you supposed to say to that? You vaguely knew there were nine Greek muses, but you didn’t know their names. Not really. But, of course – the Muse of Tragedy would have a penchant for chocolate. You nodded slowly. “That fits, actually. Sadness and chocolate. But…so, does that mean…you were stealing that cake from my dream?”

“Anything you bring into my realm is mine for the taking as I please.”

“Your realm?”

He nodded, the light glinting in his unearthly gaze. “And while it is not uncommon for me to move among the dreamers in my realm, it is far less common for them to take notice of me.”

“But I did.” You lick your lips, a sense of unease creeping into your gut. “I heard you.”

“Yes. You did.”

“So, what does that mean? You don’t….have I seen too much? Do you have to kill me now?”

He takes a step forward as if to placate your rambling, something like disbelief flashing across his face. The severe contrast between his jet-black features and snow-white skin distorts his expression and makes for a fascinating study as he advances. “No. That would be extreme and uncalled for.”

“Then, why am I here?” You draw yourself up to your full height, not wanting to appear intimidated even though his presence radiates undeniable power. It scares you just a little, but it is also strangely thrilling. If you are here, then surely that can only mean he has taken notice of you, too.

“I thought to grant you an audience. Allow you to sate your curiosity and free your mind for other pursuits.”

“Grant me an audience?” You scoff, shaking your head. “What, like you’re a king or something?”

“I am, in fact, the monarch of this realm. The Lord of Dream and Nightmare.”

You force a hard swallow, suddenly unsure. Had you said too much? Had you inadvertently insulted him? “Wow…uh, ok, your highness.” You’d never addressed royalty before. Are you expected to curtsey or bow?

“That is not necessary. You may call me Morpheus, if you have a need.”

“Morpheus…like the god of dreams and sleep. Like Mister Sandman? Like the song?”

“Mortals do have several lyrical musings about me, after a fashion.”

You smile, a tease. “You mean you don’t have two lips like roses and clover?”

He blinks those otherworldly eyes. “My appearance is as you see me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…it’s a line from the song. ‘Mister Sandman’. Your lips…,” you pause, heat staining your cheeks unbidden, “they look fine.” A stab of annoyance surges through you that even in dreams you aren’t free of your traitorous propensity for blushing. Especially when someone of such ethereal beauty stares back at you.

For there’s no denying that’s where you are. Wrapped in the embrace of a dream with him…the Lord of Dreams. In his world. His realm – his kingdom.

Had he pulled you here? How did he know you were even asleep?

The more you take him in, though, the more you really hope you aren’t actually going crazy and losing your mind. Talk about an overactive, runaway subconscious. Carrying on such a vivid conversation with some demented part of your psyche.

“So, wait…,” you say, furrowing your brow, “I am asleep, right?”

He lifts his head to the deep navy sky, gesturing with an elegant, spidery hand. “You are indeed asleep in your mortal world.” Those eyes fall back to you, pinning you in place as he steps even closer. “Just as you are here with me in my world.”

His impressive height towers over you, sparking your blood. The thought of being wrapped up in his tall, powerful frame – feeling those slender fingers drift on your skin, hearing that melodious voice in your ear, just for you – pulls a sigh from your lips. 

The stars of his eyes flash a brilliant mauve.

Oh, shit. Is he…could he read your mind? Does he know what you’re thinking? Does he know that you want to know the texture of his wild hair, the taste of his ashen lips?

God, you’d starved yourself of sex for too long if you were truly lusting after this so-called dream king. This being – this _man_ – who couldn’t possibly exist.

Could he?

And if he didn’t? If this is just the most vivid dream of your life – then, what do you have to lose by laying your cards on the table?

You swallow, breathing deep to gather your confidence, feeling the indulgent fabric move with your chest. “I know I’m dreaming and you’re not real…but will I make a fool of myself if I kiss you?”

He arches a dark brow. “Presumptuous of you to be so forward with my person.”

“Presumptuous of _me?_ ” You arch a brow to match his. “What about you? The king who brought me to his private gardens?”

His voice purrs deep, washing over you in euphonious waves. “I am within my right when a dreamer invades The Dreaming with such cloying distractions. Such vivid and evocative fantasies about my person that circumstances have not allowed me to indulge in over four score years.”

Your breath stalls, liquid heat flaring in your belly. Later, you could try to figure out why you burn with the all-consuming need to have this figure that’s haunted your thoughts for weeks – but for now, you're willing to surrender everything. You moisten your lips. “I saw you in my dream, and I wanted to see you again. You – your voice…I didn’t want to forget. Dreams are so fleeting, after all. But from that first glance, I knew – I knew you were worth remembering.”

Would he be displeased if you reach out for him, touch his flowing robe, his alabaster skin?

“You are a curious study, my mortal.” His hand raises, the backside of his knuckles brushing down the smooth fabric of your copious sleeve. “You stand before one of the Endless, at his invitation, and you take such liberty.” He strokes back up the velvet fabric, a featherlight caress that does nothing to calm the racing of your heart.

God, how are you supposed to think? Your mouth is dry, your skin burns. What you wouldn’t give to have that hand – those fingers – find their way to your wrist and trace bare skin. Slowly, you manage to find words. “I’ve thought about you every night when I drift off. I always hoped I would dream of you again. See your eyes again. Hear you again. God, your _voice..._ it’s what drew me to you.”

Deciding you don’t care, you raise you other hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips along his upturned palm as he continues his ministrations on your arm. His skin, smooth and refined, holds the slightest edge of frosty chill. Like…like marble. If marble was fleshy and corporeal.

His eyes burn with mesmerizing fire. “I have known your thoughts every night since – echoing in my being and in this place. Needless to say, your continual… _persistence_ did heavily influence my decision to seek a meeting with you.” His fingers curl around yours, tearing a breathy moan from you to feel the strength there. “But make no mistake.” 

A whisper of chilled air brushes your lips as you realize he is close now. So _tenderly_ close. Had you moved? Had he? The cool tip of his nose teases your cheek and you lean into his touch, breathing him in - all icy, crisp snow, and burning, celestial forges. 

His words form between you with barely a breath. “Touch your lips to mine, and you will take my seed this night.” 

You whimper high in your throat, wanting nothing more. You’d waited weeks to see him again and you aren’t going to let him get away now. "If that was a threat...it failed, Morpheus." 

"A promise, then." 

You angle your head, nuzzling the slope of his nose, gusting your breath over his lips. Charged anticipation hangs thick in the remaining space. You press forward, sealing your mouth to his in a kiss of acknowledgement. Of acceptance. Of pure fucking _want._

The chilly texture of his lips creates pleasant sensations as your mouth moves with his, savoring the endless caress. He meets your advances, sliding his hand up your arm and around your back, pressing you closer. You reach out to his robe, finding the fabric so feather-light, so inviting, as you lick against the seam of his lips, teasing for an opening. And open he does.

You gasp as control of the kiss shifts. As his tongue drives forward, plundering yours and the warmth of your mouth. You grip his sharp shoulder, arching into him as you whimper at the onslaught. The motions of his mouth mimick motions that you long for from other parts of his anatomy, and you can't stop your hand from raising to those tempting, raven locks. His hair cards through your fingers like fine silk, and you struggle to breathe as everything within you screams out for this man. This king. This lord. 

You clench your hand low on his nape, withdrawing from his deep kiss. You want more - so much fucking more. He groans low, the sound inhuman and intoxicating as you angle your head, dropping kisses along his defined jawline. Each press of your lips against chilly skin emboldeneds you further, drowning in his whispered gasps and strangled moans. You close your teeth over the juncture of his neck and shoulder - where a racing pulse should reside - and the world tilts. 

Strong arms sweep you up, drawing you down and laying you out against the unnaturally soft, glowing ground. The faint light from the swaying grass illuminates his dark features, catching the mauve glow of the stars in his eyes. He presses the full length of his slender, hard body against you, tearing a gasp from you as your eyes fall closed. When had...had any man ever felt so good? 

Crisp fingers dance across the exposed skin of your chest, drifting down over the front of your robe. Summoned by the power of his touch alone, the fabric parts as his fingers trail down your sternum, your belly. His mouth lays siege to your neck, your breasts, nibbling and tasting as he nuzzles the fabric aside. 

Your hands pull at his own robe, feeling yours continue to fall away. Then, there are no barriers between you - and you feel _everything_. Every hard angle, each press of chilled skin, the rigid length of his arousal. You feel like an inferno by comparison, trying to lift your hips to meet his, to guide him where you want him most. 

“You wanton creature," he scolds. His teeth graze your nipple and you tremble beneath him. “You try my patience.” 

“I... _oh,_ I didn’t ask you to be patient.” Another gasp leaves you as he shifts to return his mouth to yours, the length of him brushing between your legs. You lift a leg to wrap around his hips, coaxing him down to fully connect your bodies. 

“The lady is demanding of her king.”

It almost sounds like a low current of amusement warms his voice. But you don’t trust your blurred senses, intoxicated by his all-consuming presence. 

“Please…,” you catch the transcendent glow of his eyes, desperate, “please, my king. I want to _feel_ you.” 

His lips press to yours, the most chaste of kisses. A complete contrast to the full press of bare skin to bare skin. Surely, your heart will explode if he makes you wait any longer.

“And so you shall, my lady.” 

With the smallest shift of his hips, the cool, blunt tip of him catches at your slick, burning entrance. Your head falls back against the soft ground as he pushes forward, breaching and filling you. God, it's perfect - _he_ is perfect. You can feel each chilled inch of him as he buries to the hilt, groaning into each other's mouths. 

You cease to exist as he begins to move. Surrendering to the push and pull that his body extracts and yours demands. Your cries echo into the dreamscape, unable to censor the sensations from such escalating, mind-numbing pleasure. Your body coils tight around him, drawing his most delicious grunts and groans in a primal register that no mortal could match. Each thrust hits deep and true to your most sensitive place time after time, a relentless rush with only one end. You explode in a blinding fury of ectasy, floating mindless in starlight and darkness. 

His serrated groan echoes in your mind as cool liquid floods you. 

Your mouth finds his, languid and content and so intimate. Something in your heart aches as your body rests under his, drifts with his. 

You woke up, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. Tears welled in your eyes at the overwhelming sense of boneless satisfaction and sudden loss. 

A dream...sure, it had only been a dream. But it felt more real than anything you'd known. Was that it, though? Would you ever see him again?

You rolled over, trying to calm your raging thoughts and emotions, feeling a slippery dampness between your legs. Of course, after a dream like _that_ , you weren't surprised. But as the moisture continued to spread and seep through the cotton, your brow furrowed. It...it seemed like too much. With a slow reach of your hand, you explored beneath the covers. 

Your fingers came away coated in something far more thick and viscous than your natural slick. The implication seized you, breath catching and eyes widening.

It was _only_ a dream…right?

Only a Dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers & happy reading, y'all!


End file.
